S'mores
by trufflemores
Summary: So I wrote camping!Klaine because there aren't enough camping!Klaine fics in the world. Soon-to-be-accompanied by a full length camping piece. Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Blaine was good at a lot of things. He was good at tuning a guitar, fixing up a car, and organizing pick-me-up videos for friends in need.

Ostensibly, what he was not good at was camping.

It wasn't for lack of enthusiasm. If anything, there was such an overabundance of enthusiasm that it compensated for any shortcomings that Kurt and he encountered. If there was even a possibility for failure, then Blaine found it.

Pitching a tent proved to be hard. Avoiding insect bites was harder. Sore feet after long hiking trails were inescapable, and trying to find a comfortable spot of ground to sleep on was almost comically impossible.

All in all, after three days of exposure to wind, rain, and sun, Kurt was feeling decidedly hopeless about the entire affair as a pleasant experience when Blaine brought out a pack of marshmallows – God knows where he'd been hiding them – and announced, "_We_ are making s'mores."

Kurt looked up at him, awash in firelight, his hair wild but his jaw set as he took a seat beside Kurt on the log, making himself comfortably as he tore open the pack carefully.

He managed to spit a marshmallow without stabbing himself before Kurt dared to point out, "We didn't bring any Graham crackers. Or chocolate bars."

"Nope," Blaine agreed, offering his marshmallow to the flames. He smelled like burnt wood, which Kurt might have taken for a bad omen three days ago, except that Blaine had spent roughly half the time almost setting his own shirt on fire as he built up the wood for the fire burning in front of them now. As it was, Kurt didn't mind the smell – it was hardly worse than the insect-repellant or the ever charming and indefinable smell that was dry-but-formerly-doused-in-the-lake – and he found the exercise calming, a quiet companionship to the unceasing chorus of insects around them. Leaning his head on Blaine's shoulder, he watched him toast the marshmallow, rapt.

To his surprise, it emerged perfectly golden a moment later, spinning gently on the end of Blaine's stick as he observed his handiwork, a pleased smile crossing his lips. He took a bite before fate could flick the melted marshmallow off the end of his stick and let out a deep _mm, _prompting Kurt to nudge his shoulder expectantly.

Blaine spitted a second marshmallow and offered it to the flames carefully, watching it for a long minute before holding it aloft and beaming at its perfectly golden texture.

"I'm impressed," Kurt admitted, for once _pleasantly _surprised by the camping trip.

Nibbling on the marshmallow as Blaine found a second suitable stick to roast more marshmallows with, Kurt couldn't help but think that even if they'd both been attacked by mosquitoes, plagued with sleeplessness, set upon by every camping inconvenience known to man (short of actual bears, even though Kurt had slept with Blaine blocking the tent opening both nights, knowing that he slept like a log and was thus more likely to pass as 'dead' if one came ambling past), it was nice to just get _away _where no one could really find them.

Going three days without work and Rachel and a dozen other harrying options was nice. Liberating. And Blaine hadn't dragged him into any of his crazier stunts, letting him read while Blaine patiently waited for hours for fish to nibble on his line or scaled a beastly-looking rock face for the sheer consideration of the feat.

Camping was meant to be adventurous, and Kurt couldn't deny that their experiences _hadn't _been, but there was something nice about just sitting beside his fiancé in front of a fire roasting marshmallows.

"They still aren't s'mores," Kurt pointed out, as Blaine pulled another marshmallow from his stick and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Without a word, he tilted his head and gave Kurt a firm kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

Intrigued, Kurt lifted his head just enough to look at him. "Oh?"

"We're eating marshmallows in the woods and all you can complain about – and there are at least a hundred different things that have gone wrong on this trip, honestly – is the fact that these marshmallows –" he waved his stick once– "aren't s'mores. I love you," he repeated emphatically.

Feeling oddly warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the night chill or the pleasantly warm blaze at his knees, Kurt echoed simply, "I love you, too." Because he knew that Blaine, the same one that stared at him with doe-eyed affection as he related all the wonderful and awful things that had happened on his first trip to nationals in New York.

Sometimes things didn't work out as planned, but as long as he got Blaine and half of what he bargained for – in that case, New York itself; in this case, perfectly roasted marshmallows – then Kurt was happy.

And Blaine, he realized, with a sort of curiosity and amazement bordering on awe, was somehow happy with his lot, too.


End file.
